Good fucking god, did you guys ever bring it last week when we called for stories about your craziest sex injuries. There were tales of burns, stitches, broken bones, and concussions. Some of you fell off the bed, others fainted in the shower. Your stories were so amazing, in fact, that we couldn’t limit ourselves to picking just a few of the best. As such, welcome to Pissing Contest XXL, where we’re highlighting the 10 best reader-submitted stories about hurting yourself while doin’ it.

Scene- My bedroom, 2 AM, after a bottle and a half of wine.Players (In a theatre sense, not like, a gross way to say ‘lovers’ or whatever)- My husband and also my me.

We were young, early 20’s, shitty on wine, having laugh sex, where we sort of clumsily bounced around the bedroom, laughing and not totally putting all the parts where they needed to go, but getting the basics right. I decided I was feeling brave, no- heroic, and I was going to try deep-throating for the first time. Now, my husband has a generous downstairs, so this felt like an undertaking. I jokingly stretched and jogged in place, and then put my sexy face on. Full of wine confidence, I felt like I was going to crush this blow job. I remembered then, that I read a tip that you should lay down on your back, with your head sort of off the bed and let the dude get in that way, so your neck isn’t at a 90 degree angle and you reduce your chances of triggering a gag-reflex. So I suggested that, and we got into place. I laid down and dropped my head off the bed.

I immediately felt nauseated.

I ignored it, because I was going to be a blow job legend. I was going to do this thing. Blow job legends don’t get NAUSEATED. Blow job legends get shit done. So, we started slow and then I reached around and grabbed his ass and pushed him past the gag-limit, because I WAS A PENIS PROFESSIONAL AND GODDAMNIT I CAN DO THIS. And then-

GODDAMNIT I CAN’T DO THIS.

Within seconds, my wine-filled belly was angry. Volcanic. I immediately squirmed away and ran to the bathroom where I threw up VIOLENTLY into the sink, because I couldn’t make the extra two steps to the toilet. Then, because of the wine, and the nakedness and the violence of my puking, I peed. I peed EVERYWHERE.

So, there I am, naked, vomiting and peeing, and my sweet, loving husband timidly approaches the door and says, “Can I do anything to help?”

And because I am still SO DRUNK, and embarrassed and my Blow Job Legend title has been stripped from me, I try to simultaneously run away to the shower and close the door at the same time. Except the floor is covered in pee. And a little bit of puke. And I slip.

I still have a scar on the very edge of my hairline on my forehead where I hit the cupboard corner on the way down.

Ah, finally I can reveal the TRUE STORY of my past injury thanks to the anomity of the Internet.

I was over-the-top intoxicated at a friend’s house, and was desperately trying to initiate a FWB romp with a bud of mine (ugh, the foul taste of regret) once the night slowed down and people went to bed. As he was also heavily intoxicated, he obliged and we fumbled around in the dark dining room for a bit. Then I spotted one of those pull-up bars in the door frame, stumbled over to it, and pulled myself up asking for the guy to essentially do me as I lifted my own body weight. Once again, he obliged, and after only a few pumps in, I slipped off the bar and he didn’t catch me. I fell DIRECTLY onto my tailbone, and seeing as I was near blackout at this point, I shook it off and hobbled over to an available bed where he proceeded to finish the job while I starfished, the pain not even registering in the slightest.

He had to leave early the next morning for work, so when I awoke, I was alone and had a beyond-searing pain in my lower back. I couldn’t physically get out of bed. I also didn’t have my phone near me, so I YELLED my friend who lived there’s name over and over...with no response.

Turns out he thought I had left with my friend, and he was out for brunch with his girlfriend, which I found out HOURS later when he returned. I was so embarrassed about what had happened (mainly because I didn’t want anybody to know my FWB agenda) so I said I drunkenly fell on my ass the night before and needed help out of bed. He drove me home and kept insisting to take me to the hospital, but I couldn’t admit myself to explain the situation.

FWB guy claimed he didn’t remember what happened at all, which I chose to believe at the time. And it’s also embarrasing to point out that it wasn’t even a house party. Just a gathering of four that turned into me probably getting a strained tailbone that I didn’t treat so it didn’t go away for at least a month and a half. :/

My apologies in advance for the long backstory, but it is necessary to fully understand the horrible-ness of the situation. I live in a tiny apartment in New York with my wife and son, which, ever since our son has gotten the ability to walk and talk and whatnot already made sex a fairly covert affair (the window of time when he’s fallen asleep, but not late enough you’d risk him waking up in the middle of the night and catching us). Last fall, my wife decided to start taking some night classes, and we found ourselves in a worrisome situation with regards to childcare—specifically with no family around, we needed to find a nanny or sitter to pick up our son from school every day and watch him until one of us got home. I was cool with the idea, but it was bothering my wife to the point she was going to back out of the classes, but then my mother-in-law swooped in and offered to come stay with us to be there to help with our son.

Thankfully I’m on good terms with the MIL, so it wasn’t setting up to be a nightmare, but we’re now up to three adults and a 5 year old living in a small, 2 bedroom NYC apartment. Needless to say, privacy was a big issue, and with the MIL keeping odd hours (she’d be up when we woke, up when we went to bed...do old people never sleep?) it was seemingly impossible to find any time for sex. We got creative, and decided the shower was the best option, as it is not an uncommon occurrence for me to sit on the toilet and chat with my wife while she showers. The system worked...she’d announce her shower, go get started, I’d tell the MIL “Welp, I’m gonna go poop and chat while she showers,” I join her, we do our business. Then she’d turn off the shower, I’d make a big production about flushing as if I’d been sitting there using the bathroom the whole time, and she’d loudly tell me I should go ahead and shower up for the night, and the MIL was none-the-wiser. Anyway, long story longer, the whole system came to a painful and abrupt halt one night thanks to one little slick patch of soap residue. We were going about our business when I slipped. I fell at the most awkward angle and suddenly my right leg was on fire. I couldn’t move my foot (turns out I’d torn my MCL). My wife was screaming, bleeding from her arm where it had gashed on the tub’s faucet. Hearing the crash and screaming, my mother-in-law bursts in to help, finding us naked, collapsed in the tub. She ends up calling 911 for me and had to help get some clothes on me while my wife bandaged up her arm.

The funny thing is, it took her a while to realize what was actually happening. It was like a good hour or so later while we were at the hospital, I’d just found out how bad the damage was, when she shakes her head and says, “My God. What on earth were you...” then she caught herself and you could see the light go on as she gasped, turned red and started saying, “Oh. Oh my. I...” and stammering a bit more before announcing she was going to go buy a bottle of water. She never mentioned it again, and helped out both semesters. The only thing that really changed (aside from my rehabbing my leg) was that she started taking walks a few times a week after dinner—once our son was asleep— claiming she wanted some fresh air and whatnot. Extra cool thing was she’d always make a point of calling before heading home (“Oh, I stopped at the store across the street, did either of you need anything before I head up?”).

This is an important story that should always be used as a warning. They should teach it in SexEd in non-crazy religious states because it’s a DIRE warning. Or heck, teach it in Alabama because it ruins every pretense of sexiness.

Guy and I segued from “we’re just friends” into “friends with bennies”, and I don’t just mean the delicious brunch foods. One glorious Tuesday morning, we decide to move things into the shower. Things went south.

Maybe it was the humidity. Maybe it was the lack of proper food. Maybe it was something obstructing my ability to breathe (spoiler: penis).

At any rate, I became really, really light headed. Suddenly I announced “I need to leave.” Managed to make it out of the shower before blacking out, soaking wet, completely naked on his bathroom tile.

He had to drag my halfway out of the bathroom (remember, he’s also naked) and was about to call an ambulance when I regained consciousness. Thankfully his housemate didn’t wander by.

My MIL decided she was going to give my FIL a “binaca blow job.” She didn’t realize you’re supposed to spray it in your mouth, not on your husband’s cock. So she basically sprayed fire all over his junk.

But that’s not the most painful part of the story. The most painful part was her recounting it to me, in great detail.

My boyfriend and I had been dating for maaaybe a month when, one night during some semi-drunk sexing, he managed to hit the perfect spot to rupture an ovarian cyst the size of my fist that I didn’t know existed. He then had to call his mother - at 3 in the morning - to come and drive us to the emergency room because I was in a ball on the bed sobbing in pain and he was a little too semi-drunk to drive us himself. Then I got to tell the doctor what, exactly, had happened ... with his mother, who I had only met once up to this point, standing in the bed area. Luckily, we’ve all moved on and I think she pretends it never happened, and she was really nice and let us stay at her house for the next two days so that I would be comfortable, but it was awful on all counts.

One of my bffs was having rough doggy style sex with her hubby. He thrusted, she screamed. He fractured vertebrae in her lower back! The angle was problematic according to the doctor? She still can’t run like she used to!

And now a story featuring Senator Chuck Schumer, courtesy of Nutella14:

Back when I lived across the street from Chuck Schumer, I was accustomed to the occasional police escort whenever the senator came home. The guy who had me half out the kitchen window onto the fire escape while fucking me, however, was not. Seeing a string of cars with flashing blue lights headed towards my building, he leaped up and back, bumping the old, heavy, rope-pulley window and sending it crashing down on top of us. I just ended up slightly bruised, scratched up, and stuck under him for a while. But he cracked a rib. Those old brownstone windows are heavy!

This isn’t my story but my roommate’s. It’s too good not to share though. This would have been junior year of high school I believe in one of our other friend’s basements.

This was the night he lost his virginity. They had quick drunken teen sex and passed out on the floor next to each other. The next morning we hear her SCREAM bloody murder and we all run down to the basement to see what’s happening. They are on the floor laying in a huge pool of blood. They didn’t know where it came from neither felt any pain and were both freaking out. It’s was a fucking horror scene.

It turns out that she was a bit dry, he wasn’t circumcised and tore the underside of his foreskin really badly but didn’t realize it at the time. The cock tear + thin drunk blood left a 4 ft diameter bloodstain on my friend’s father’s basement floor that exists to this day some 12 years later.

Vagina Dentata is real... well, that or foreplay/lube is probably a good idea.

Seriously, these stories were all SO good that it was almost impossible to choose. Read the rest here and let’s all agree to never have sex again.